


Regnava Nel Silenzio

by Femme (femmequixotic)



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: M/M, post-OotP, snaco
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-10-03
Updated: 2008-10-03
Packaged: 2017-10-02 01:37:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/femmequixotic/pseuds/Femme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some silences can be filled for a brief moment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Regnava Nel Silenzio

**Author's Note:**

> _Regnava nel silenzio_ (Silence reigned) is the title of an aria from Donizetti's opera _Lucia di Lammermoor,_ a retelling of Sir Walter Scott's epic _The Bride of Lammermoor._ (Lucia is one of Maria Callas' most famous roles.) Translation of the Italian is at the end.
> 
> For Isolde, who inspires, and la_sonnambula, who understands the allure.

Maria Callas sings as I take the boy.

His robe lies discarded on the floor next to my bed, one curved corner of the prefect badge glinting dully from the crumpled folds of black wool, the thick knit of his school jumper a drab grey slash across the snarled fringe of the now threadbare Persian rug that once warmed my mother's bedroom floor.

My palms slide down his bare arms, grazing the bone-china curves of his shoulders; my fingers close around his wiry forearms and pull them up over his head. I wrap the grey striped tie around his bony wrists, twining the narrow strip of silk through his fingers and securing the ends to the thick ebony posts of my bed. He licks his bottom lip, already swollen from my kisses, exhales slowly, arches against my hands as they slide down his lean sides, my fingers tracing the ridges of his ribcage.

My breath catches as he twists beneath me; I am all too aware of the heated tick of blood oscillating through my body as his warm, firm flesh slithers across my skin.

This gluttonous iniquity will damn me for eternity.

I look down at the pale body sprawled across my bed, at gangly white legs cocked open against the rumpled aubergine cotton sheets, fine strands of dishevelled hair catching on the edge of the pillowcase, long glints of gold in the flickering firelight.

_Egli e luce a' giorni miei ... _ The soprano's voice echoes through the still room, her voice breaking only once when the Muggle record catches for the briefest moment, the battered needle of the charmed phonograph dating from my father's schooldays hanging on a worn vinyl groove.

I bite the curve of his jaw, my lank hair falling across my face, over his sloped shoulder. He whimpers softly, raising his chin to allow my mouth to slide hot and wet down his throat.

You want this, I say, even though there is no need to ask. The rhythmic curl of his body against mine is my answer. You want me. The rough, almost angry rasp of my voice hides for yet another night my perplexed consternation that the boy, capable, as was his father so many years past, of bedding whichever schoolboy beauty should capture his fancy, desires the touch of such as I.

_E conforto al mio penar... _

Stormcloud grey eyes regard me steadily. Yes, he nods, pushing his hips up. Please. Professor. Sir. Gasps punctuate each word as I scrape my teeth across a hard pink nipple. I suppress a moan as my mouth slides open across the soft flaxen hair winding a faint trail down the shallow dip of his sternum.

I have no wish to allow the boy to know the effect he has on me.

_Quando rapito in estasi del piu cocente amore... _

I fuck him slowly at first, holding back as he writhes against me. He opens his legs wider, begs to be taken harder, faster. Please, he whispers, gilt hair clinging damply to his temple. The acrid, foul tang of the lubricating potion clashes with the musky aroma of our arousal. I burrow my nose against his pointed jaw, inhaling instead the sticky perfume of sweat and want and olive soap from the stalls of Marseilles.

My teeth leave pink marks against the taut, pale curve of his throat; my tongue flickers over his pounding pulse. Breathe, I whisper, more to myself than my young lover.

His head falls back against the pillow; his arms tense; his fingers twist in their silken bonds, thin blotches of raw red marking his damp skin. God, please. His eyes widen, unfocus. Please. Please.

I tell myself again with each thrust of my hips that I commit this sin, I bed the boy, only to protect him, to prevent him from turning to the malfeasance that ensnared me at his age. My responsibility--I gasp as his foot slides over my arse, his toe nudging the shallow crease--my responsibility, taken on the night he first came to my door three months past, swearing the rash vengeance of youth, still nauseous and agitated from all he had witnessed that day deep within the bowels of Azkaban Fortress.

I do not want him.

I do not watch the sparse, elegant cadence of his hands as he takes his meals in the Great Hall; I do not listen to the autocratic aria of his voice echoing quietly in my classroom as he relays instructions to those two obtuse sycophants dogging his every movement.

Damn Albus and those asinine fools at the Ministry. No son should ever be forced to see his father die at the hands of those soulless beasts.

His potion-slicked hole tightens around my shaft, drawing me deeper within. A moan. My tongue traces the salty curve of his collarbone.

I do not want him.

This transgression is my duty.

His cock slides wetly across the tight muscles of my stomach. He pants, warm, moist huffs prickling against my ear. He bows his back, undulating and uncoiling over and over beneath my rolling hips.

Please.

I realise too late the word comes from my own lips. My fingertips dig into the flat planes of his waist, leaving behind thin purple crescents on the pale velvet of his belly.

His muscles shift under my palms, flexing with each grunt, each gasp, each grind of our hipbones against one another.

Callas' voice swells, melodic silk sheathing our bodies, cascading across flushed skin and straining limbs, cocooning us in our nest of tangled sheets.

_Col favellar del core mi giura eterna fe... _

Slick, heavy, painful, our bodies wind together, until it is impossible to tell where each begins. A perfect caduceus.

_Gli affanni miei dimentico... _

My fingers slide between us, close around the warm velvet shaft of his cock; my thumb circles across coarse blond curls. He hisses, coiling towards my touch, his tongue flicking against the corner of my mouth. Yes. Please. Oh god. Please. Sharp teeth nip, bite, tug my lip. The rusty tang of blood fills my mouth.

I barely notice the stinging cut.

Hot sighs ghost across his throat, his chin. Quiet words murmur against his lips. Yes. More. Want...my serpent. My dragon.

My back flexes; an aching helix of desperate tension loops around my spine, winding its serpentine way through the tight, shaking musculature of my body.

The soft trill of a flute washes over me, followed by the warm tenor of a cello, then Callas' perfect soprano; the music curls through the air around us in a beautiful, twisting, coiling spiral.

His neck curves as he shouts in unison with the soaring melody; his shoulders twist, his fists clench. Please. Please. God. Please. He pulls against his bonds, his fingernails cutting into the soft flesh of his palms.

_Gioia diviene il pianto ... _

Viscous warmth explodes between us, spurting against our damp skin, smearing across shuddering muscles with each thrust of our hips.

I relent at last, my body filling his, my smug arrogance of the experienced broken by the milky strings of semen that adorn our bellies. Quick thrusts now, the desire to remain aloof dissipated, all consideration of duty relegated to the farcical pretence it is, my only thought a burning need to touch him, to kiss him, to fuck him as Callas urges me onward in Italian, her vibrant vibratto twining us together, gossamer straps of music gently binding our coiled bodies.

_Parmi che a lui d'accanto... _

Severus, he whispers, his eyes wide as I press deeper. Severus. Severus. Severus. I groan, my hips thrusting, my shoulders shaking with the effort of holding myself above his exquisite body.

My Draco, I say against his neck. I press my mouth against the pounding pulse in his throat. My Draco. A plea, a command, an assertion. Mine.

I lick the fleshy curve of his throat, taste the salty-sweet tang of his sweat.

Come for me, he murmurs, his breath hot against my cheek. Come for me, Severus. Come. Please. Come for me.

A mantra repeated over and over, weaving its searing web of magic over my burning flesh. The music crescendos around us, filling the air with the warmth of Callas' voice, with the explosive cacophony of timpani and oboe, violin and trumpet.

_Si schiuda il ciel per me... _

Come for me, Severus. Legs wrap around my thighs; feet flex; sharp toenails scrape across the creased skin in back of my knee. Come for me. Please. A warm mouth teases me, follows the sharp angle of my jaw.

Oily black hair tumbles over my eyes, dark strands catching in the damp corners of my mouth with each frantic plunge of my body.

A quick upwards thrust of his hips and a gasp of surprise. A cry that reverberates deep within me and I am gone, a reluctant slave to a mere whip of a boy's ascendancy as my body convulses within his.

My harsh groans echo through the bedroom, muffled only by my mouth on his throat and the heavy velvet tapestries draping the damp stone walls. The record rasps quietly, reaching the end of the circle of vinyl, the needle catching in the worn grooves.

He pulls at his silk bindings, his hands slipping easily from the loosened loops. The tie slides to the floor; his fingers weave through my hair, lifting heavy, sweat-drenched locks, pushing the twisted strands from my forehead. My name lingers on lips curved in a small, triumphant smile. A kiss to my temple, my cheek, my jaw, my mouth.

His fingers trail over my shoulders, dipping in the shallow valleys beneath my scapula, skimming the bony ridge of vertebrae.

Beautiful, he whispers, grey eyes studying my face. His thumb traces the crooked slope of my nose, brushes against my thin lips.

Spectacles, Mr. Malfoy. I nip his finger, rolling off him, wincing as our bodies separate, skin sticking to skin.

He shakes his head, runs his palm across my cheek, shivering as I turn my head to press my mouth against the soft skin, flick my tongue against his narrow lifeline. You're beautiful when you come. He smiles languorously, stretching, his body coiling against mine. For me.

He sits up, bends over to grab his formerly pristine white shirt, slightly wrinkled now. The small knobs of his spinal column shimmer like gilded marble in the red-gold firelight.

I watch as he dresses, my eyes, as always, devouring these final glimpses of porcelain skin scratched and abraded by my fingers. Erotic images to leave me breathless and aroused as I stand behind him in class, my hand over his, guiding him as he stirs his potion widdershins.

He stands, straightening the knot of his tie. Appropriately chaste now, he says with a laugh.

I catch his hand, pull him onto the bed with me. I roll onto him, kiss him hard, my lips bruising his, my fingers sliding under his jumper, clutching his narrow waist through the thin cotton of his shirt. He arches into my hands; his arms wrap around my neck; he sighs into my mouth, hooks his foot over my leg.

They'll wonder where I am, he murmurs against my lips. His slender fingers toy with my hair, stroking it gently.

I consider briefly, recklessly telling him to stay, to allow my House to speculate over his whereabouts.

I come to my senses at once.

One last sweep of my tongue across his swollen lip and I pull away, reaching for my wand.

An uneasy pique fills me as all traces of my kisses disappear. My jaw clenches.

Return to your dormitory, Mr. Malfoy. My voice is harsher than I intend it to be. He rises, his eyes tracing the length of my naked body in the rumpled sheets.

Tomorrow night then, he says. He pauses, a smile playing at the corner of his mouth. Sir.

I believe I requested you leave. I pull the sheet over my body. I should like to sleep.

He bows, not quite hiding the flash of amusement in his eyes at my irritation. Even at seventeen, the boy sees far too much.

Mine, he whispers.

He is seventeen.

And I am damned.

The door clicks shut behind him.

Silence reigns in my quarters once more.

\----------------------------------------------------------

**Italian translations**

_Egli e luce a' giorni miei: _ He is light to my days!  
_E conforto al mio penar: _ He is comfort to my soul!  
_Quando rapito in estasi del piu cocente amore: _ When carried away in ecstasy of the most burning ardour,  
_Col favellar del core: _ With speaking of the heart  
_Mi giura eterna fe': _ to me he swears eternal faith.  
_Gli affanni miei dimentico: _ I forget my anxieties  
_Gioia diviene il pianto: _ joy replaces my weeping  
_Parmi che a lui d'accanto: _ It seems to me that when I am near him  
_Si schiuda il ciel per me: _ Heaven opens itself for me


End file.
